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My own parents, with six kids, awakened to that very query in the wee hours of Christmas morning for nearly two decades. They were not unlike many a bleary-eyed Mom and Dad on Christmas morn‹with one exception. In our house, not only did Santa bring presents, he also brought a fully decorated, lighted and be-tinseled Christmas tree.

The morning went something like this. After groggily descending the stairs, my Dad would call up, “It looks like he’s been here.” Squeals of joy and relief all around.

Our parents then led us down the stairs singing “Silent Night,” and opened the doors to the living room, where a dazzling tree surrounded by piles of presents pummeled our senses.

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“Awe” was the collective sentiment.

This was high-impact Yuletide.

We loved it. But as I look back now, I sense it must have been pretty demanding on my folks, aka Santa’s Helpers. Wrangling all six Christmas-hyped kids to bed, wrapping dozens of presents, dragging in the Christmas tree, hauling the ornaments down from the attic, checking for burnt-out bulbs, it’s exhausting just thinking about their Christmas Eve marathon.

As an adult and parent, I now look back and wonder, how did they do it? And, perhaps more perplexing, why? OK, maybe they could have planned this better, but, in their defence, time management issues at Christmas are liberally distributed among parents. I have come to the conclusion that something deeper was at work.

As a child, I learned about “miracles” in catechism class, church sermons, and Bible stories, but they were somewhat quaint and removed, historical holdovers from a dusty past. These entailed the miracles surrounding Christmas, including the conception of Jesus, a comingling of divine and human procreation, the Star of Bethlehem, a cosmic lighthouse for the Magi, and the shepherds being summoned by angels to the manger.

These were pretty high-concept miracles for a six-year-old, and, let’s face it, they paled in comparison to what my parents orchestrated (with Santa’s help, of course): the spectacle of a magical tree appearing amidst a sea of presents.

As thoughtful, serious and profoundly spiritual people fully immersed in the challenges of their time, my parents were not participating in mere ephemeral razzle-dazzle. Nor were they giving in to Christmas craziness.

Rather, I sense they might have been trying to embody the idea of “miracle” for our family.

By creating a “miracle” in our living room every Christmas morning, my parents were trying, I think, to cultivate within us the emotions that accompany the miraculous, to create a sense of the dynamic, vital, and enduring Christmas “miracles” of hope and the incarnation of divine love.

The miracles surrounding the first Christmas suggest that the divine expresses itself, not outside of nature, humanity and the cosmos, but in extraordinary, intimate union with them.

In other words, miracles are not rational head-trips. They are, rather, full-bodied experiences, like a child being gobsmacked by wonder on Christmas morning.

My parents did this faithfully year after year, even when the Star of Hope shone dimly over some very troubling times, including the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassination of John F. Kennedy, civil rights strife and violent anti-Vietnam War protests. Perhaps they were reflecting what my grandparents did for them during their trying times, including the Great Depression and the savagery of the Second World War.

This Christmas many of us are groping to express this hope, wonder, and joy in the odious aftermath of Donald Trump’s election, the atrocities of the Syrian civil war, the thousands of homeless citizens stranded on our streets, and the devastating effects of climate change. We, too, are wondering how to shepherd the Christmas miracle into the hearts and hopes of our children.

Although this year’s nightscape has its own gathering clouds, and the Star of Wonder may seem particularly obscured, the same was true for my parents, and those of countless others. Christmas nonetheless invites us to be “silent partners” in its coming, to steward the powerful Christmas miracle into the imaginations and aspirations of the next generation.

“Will Santa come this year?”

You bet.

Stephen Bede Scharper teaches in the Masters of Science in Sustainability Management program at the University of Toronto Mississauga. Stephen.scharper@utoronto.ca

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